


Werewolf Rum Is Evil

by riverchic1998



Series: Impaired [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-10
Updated: 2012-11-10
Packaged: 2017-11-18 08:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/559030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riverchic1998/pseuds/riverchic1998
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Stiles thrummed his fingers on the counter, waiting to pay, his eyes caught a display to the side. He started to laugh and grabbed the large glass bottle closest to him and plopped it on the counter. “Add this too,” he said, pulling more bills from his wallet. </p><p>The elderly woman raised her eyebrow. “Theme party?”</p><p>“Something like that,” he replied as she added the Bacardi Wolf Berry Rum to the bag. </p><p>This was going to be the best pack dinner ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Werewolf Rum Is Evil

**Author's Note:**

> This is crack. Not meant to be serious at all. I cannot take the credit for any were-animals listed in this story because my friends are awesome and hilarious. Thanks to Jo for looking this over and making it presentable.

…………………………

He saw it completely by accident.

This was Stiles’ weekend to make dinner for the pack and he had long ago learned that creating an elaborate dinner for the group was pretty much pointless. No one cared how long he took to carefully chop vegetables or that the grill marks on the chicken were absolutely perfect. So Stiles was trying something easy this go-around. Spaghetti. For a while, he contemplated making his own meatballs and then decided that the effort of making the meatballs would go unnoticed.

Stiles tossed a few pounds of ground beef in the shopping cart. That would be just fine. As long as there was a form of meat involved, everyone would be happy.

Looking over the items in the cart, he realized that he was missing greens. And those were on the other side of the grocery store. With a loud sigh, Stiles started to make the trek back to the other side of the building. He was walking past the milk, juices, and finally the waters then alcohols when a word caught his eye.

Werewolf.

Stiles stopped in the middle of the aisle and flailed a bit, his sneakers slipping on the slick linoleum floor. Sure enough, there was a six pack of a beer called Newcastle Werewolf. There were claw mark graphics on the cardboard and the line “Escaped from Britain” along the top of the bottles. A silhouette of a werewolf was centered in the middle of the logo, right above the words “Blood Red Ale”. He snorted and almost grabbed some, because this shit was hilarious, when he realized that he was still in Beacon County. Where his father was sheriff.

He quickly shoved the ale back onto the shelves and walked away in a way he hoped was nonchalant. Stiles had his fake ID but would need to go at least two counties over to safely purchase the alcohol. As he walked to the checkout lanes, Stiles wondered how many other wolf themed alcohols were out there.

As he put everything in his Jeep, Stiles realized he forgot the salad. _Damn it_.

…………………………

Stiles got the chance to go to the liquor store two days later, which was the day before he was due to cook for the pack. He walked in and headed immediately to the coolers with the beer. After some searching, he found the Newcastle Werewolf ale at the bottom. With a grin, he grabbed two six packs. The wolves couldn’t get drunk but they would still want to have a few drinks just to taste it. Except Derek. He would glare at Stiles for it, but this was his night to provide dinner. That included drinks.

With a smile, Stiles set the two cardboard cases on the counter with his ID. The elderly woman looked over the ID carefully before handing it back over with a grin of her own. As he thrummed his fingers on the counter, waiting to pay, his eyes caught a display to the side. He started to laugh and grabbed the large glass bottle closest to him and plopped it on the counter. “Add this too,” he said, pulling more bills from his wallet.

The elderly woman raised her eyebrow. “Theme party?”

“Something like that,” he replied as she added the Bacardi Wolf Berry Rum to the bag.

This was going to be the best pack dinner ever.

…………………………

Derek wasn’t at his townhouse when Stiles came over to start dinner, but Stiles knew the code to get in the complex gate and he had at least an hour before the pack showed up for dinner. After multiple trips from his jeep, Stiles finally had all the grocery bags and sacks on the counter. He set everything up to start making the spaghetti sauce, because he wasn’t subjecting the pack to that jarred stuff, and shoved the beers in the fridge to the side so he could pull them out for show and tell later. Just as he was about to shove the blueberry rum aside, Stiles shrugged to himself and opened it, taking a whiff. It smelled sweet and he grinned. There were a few leftover Sprites in the fridge that he noticed while putting the beer inside so he pulled them out. He mixed the blueberry rum with a Sprite in a cup and tasted carefully.

That was too damn good.

Stiles turned on the radio, bopping along as he cut up the pepper and onion for the sauce. He finished his rum and Sprite halfway through cutting the tomatoes and made another one, taking larger drinks. The hint of blueberry in the Sprite added an extra punch that he definitely liked. He made a third one as the sauce started to simmer. He fixed the bread and put a pot of water to boil for the noodles as he finished off his fourth. Stiles was halfway through his fifth when he needed to drain the spaghetti.

He stood over the sink, placing the edge of the large pot full of boiling water and cooked noodles on the lip. Stiles blinked rapidly when he realized he left his colander at home, so he would have to use a lid to strain the noodles, because if noodles didn’t come in a little plastic container that said to fill with water until a line on the inside, Derek didn’t make any form of pasta.

He also realized he was probably a little drunk. Okay, a lot drunk.

“Crap,” he said out loud, tightening his grip on the pot handles. He was like a wet noodle himself when it came to straining noodles with a colander. How the hell was he going to do it without one?

Just as Stiles put the pot back on the stove on a cool burner, the front door opened. “Stiles?”

He sighed in relief. “Derek, come help me strain these noodles. I forgot the colander at home.”

Derek’s brow was furrowed as he walked around the corner into the kitchen. He grabbed the pot lid and walked to the sink as Stiles brought the pot back over. Unfortunately, he hadn’t put the lid on all the way before Stiles started pouring.

Almost all of the cooked spaghetti slid out of the pot and into the sink.

Stiles immediately cracked up.

“Dude, don’t even…” he struggled putting the pot back on the stove. “Just don’t even worry about it. I got extra. I’ll just make more.”

Derek looked at him suspiciously. “You’re slurring your words. And you smell like…blueberries?”

Stiles spun around, arms flailing. “It’s _wolf berries_!”

Derek looked shocked. “Are you _high_?”

“No, dude, it’s this wolf stuff, right? You put it in Sprite—the drink, not the flying things in the woods—and it’s like you can’t even taste the alcohol. It’s just…Sprite with blueberries! It’s lemon lime blueberry Sprite. That should totally be a thing.”

Stiles started looking for the extra spaghetti he bought, because he was always prepared, when Derek appeared in front of him holding a half-empty bottle of the blueberry rum. “Oh, you found it! It’s awesome right? And I have werewolf beer in the fridge! There’s even one on the bottle!”

“Stiles,” Derek said firmly. “This is thirty-five percent alcohol. And you drank _half of it_. How did you not burn my townhouse down?”

He grinned at Derek, because Derek needed more smiles. “Because my kitchen pow…praw…prewess…” Stiles struggled to find the word he was looking for. “Because my kitchen awesomeness is frickin’ awesome.”

Derek didn’t seem impressed with his kitchen awesomeness. He put a hand on Stiles’ shoulder and spun him around, nudging him to the living room. “Sit down, don’t _touch_ anything, and I’ll finish dinner.”

Stiles whirled around and slipped past Derek. “But the bread! You suck at bread. Your bread is like…too crusty and stuff because you’re incapable of working an oven and telling time and shit.”

He was firmly shoved out of the kitchen again with the reminder not to touch anything. Stiles fell onto the couch and pulled out his phone with a pout, quickly dialing Scott because Scott was his bro and would understand.

“Hey, Stiles. Do I need to pick something up? Allison and I will be by in about twenty minutes.”

Stiles flopped farther onto the couch and burrowed into the cushions. “Scott, dude, I’ve been kicked out of the kitchen.”

Scott paused. “What? Why?”

“Because I dropped half the spaghetti down the sink,” Stiles said with a pout before flailing. “Do you know how hard it is to make spaghetti when you’re drunk? It’s _really fucking hard_ ,” he said loudly over the edge of the couch to the kitchen. “And it was your fault. Stupid wolf rum. It’s the rum wolf’s fault. The…wum rolf? The good stuff’s fault.”

“Yeah, you’re drunk, Stiles,” Scott said with amusement. “You never say ‘fuck’ unless you’re smashed. And what the hell is wolf rum?”

Stiles kicked his feet. “Dude, it’s, like, the best thing ever. With the wood faerie things. Mix it with the wood faerie things. It’s _awesome_ ,” he said in a sing-song voice.

“Is anyone else there?” Scott asked and Stiles looked around.

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p’. “Just me and ol’ red eyes.”

“We’ll be there in ten minutes,” Scott said hurriedly. “Just…stay out of trouble, okay?”

Scott hung up the phone and Stiles sighed loudly, tossing his phone…somewhere. “Dude, I can help. I’m totally okay now. Like…it’s not even a thing anymore.”

“How much longer should this sauce cook for?” Derek shouted from the kitchen

Stiles flailed and tried to stand, but the more he moved, the more he sunk into the couch. “Derek! Help! Your couch is possessed! It’s eating me! It’s eating the Stiles!”

Derek peered over the couch. “Yeah, you’re totally okay now,” he said sarcastically.

He walked away and Stiles whimpered. “Derek! Don’t leave me to the couch. I want to cook. In the kitchen. There should be cooking in the kitchen.”

Stiles only heard Derek grumbling and the clinking of pots and pans moving from the stove to the sink. He started to doze because the next time he opened his eyes, the pack was gathered around the couch, staring at him. He jerked and kicked out, but missed hitting anyone except for himself. Stiles rubbed his sore elbow.

“If dinner sucks, it’s because _someone_ kicked me in the kitchen. Out of the kitchen. I was in the kitchen then I was out of it. So I’m not in the kitchen anymore.”

Jackson smirked at him. “This is going to be awesome.”

“Oh, fuck you, dickwad,” Stiles snapped before he tried to stand up. He failed. A lot.

Everyone looked at Scott in surprise. Stiles started to laugh. Scott rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, Stiles kind of swears when he drinks.”

“Drinks!” he said loudly. “There’s totally werewolf beer in the fridge. Like, legit werewolf beer. Go get it!” Stiles said, wiggling his fingers. “Go get it, boy! Get it! Fetch!”

“I’m going to kill him,” someone muttered from the left.

“No killing the Stiles!” he said loudly, before kicking himself off the couch. He hit the floor with a thud. “ _Oh my god_.”

Scott was on his knees next to Stiles, looking at him in concern. Scott was a good friend. Sometimes. Then he was a shit friend. But he was a good friend.

“Stiles, what is it? Are you okay?”

“ _There are so many dust bunnies under the couch_ ,” Stiles said in an exaggerated whisper. “They’re were-bunnies. Could that be a thing?” He rolled onto his back and looked at the ceiling, gesturing with his hands. “Could other things be weres? Like, what if you munched on a cow? Think about mad cow disease! One bad batch and poof! Insta-werewolf for any human that eats it!” Stiles gestured with his arms and knocked into the coffee table, wincing. “Fucking shit, that hurt.”

Scott sighed and stood up. “It’s really just best to let him rant. He’ll get stuck on a topic and not shut up. Plus, he’s less likely to insult us if we’re not close by. He gets pretty creative.”

The footsteps echoing on the floor made his ears hurt. “Can you not sound like a herd of elephants trampling through? _Oh my god, elephants_. Were-elephants! _I am not okay with were-elephants_.”

There was laughter from the kitchen and Stiles pouted. There should be no laughing while were-elephants were rampaging the town. When he said so, the laughter grew. So he rolled over, knocked his shin into the couch, swore some more, and continued to rant.

…………………………

Stiles woke covered in blankets. He was burning up and kicked at the sheets over his head. When he finally managed to free himself, he realized he was burrowed under a pile of extra blankets and pillows on the floor in the corner of Derek’s townhouse. Some of the large cushions from one of the sofas had been pulled off and that’s what he was laying on. He rubbed at his eyes and tried to shake the fog from his head. He could see a body on the longer couch.

“Why am I on the floor?” he asked, yawning. Erica walked over with a bottle of water and Stiles blinked up at her. “What?”

“Drink it, you big baby.”

He looked at her strangely but took the water, moving much slower than normal. “What are you talking about?”

Isaac came out of the kitchen and leaned against the wall, grinning at him. “You’re on the floor because after freaking out about the possibility of fainting were-goats, you were convinced the refrigerator was hissing at you and we needed to battle it. You built a fort to protect yourself.”

Stiles groaned, snippets of the conversation from the night before coming back in small bursts. “Rum. I had rum. I get mouthy and paranoid when I drink rum.”

Erica sat on the arm of the couch. “It was pretty good. We finally figured that you mixed it with Sprite and we all agreed that you can barely taste the alcohol. How many did you have?”

“Like…five?” he said blearily before drinking the water down. Luckily, he didn’t get much of a hangover, at least not the nausea and headaches, but he still felt lethargic and fuzzy. “What happened?”

“You wouldn’t _shut up_ ,” Derek growled as he sat up. Stiles’ eyebrows rose when he realized that Derek was the person on the couch. “And you wouldn’t stop screeching if you didn’t have a werewolf around you at all times. So everyone else could sleep, I stayed in here because you took one step in my bedroom, were convinced there were murderous were-llamas hiding in the closets, and tried to climb on Boyd’s shoulders.”

“And then you regaled us with a beautiful rendition of the llama song,” Isaac finished off happily. “You added verses. The word ‘penis’ was overused and you tried to recreate your male circumcision paper that you wrote for Econ class. Then you started asking questions about knotting.”

Derek stood with a groan and popped his back. “I tried to put you in Isaac’s room so you would settle down, but you wouldn’t stop staring at the lava lamp and rested your forehead against it.”

Stiles rubbed his head and winced when it twinged. “I burned myself?”

“Yes,” Derek replied with a growl. “Because you were too enamored with the floating gel to realize you were leaning against a _lava lamp_.”

Erica started to snicker. “That’s when Derek shoved you in the corner and told you if you didn’t quiet down and stay put, he’d lead the murderous were-llamas to you.”

“And can we all just remember how hilarious Derek saying ‘were-llamas’ was?” Boyd said with a smirk.

Stiles groaned and shoved the blankets back over his head as all the betas started to laugh at him. The only one who was not amused was Derek. He looked tired, cranky, and rather murderous himself.

“Werewolf rum is _evil_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sadly, this is based off a true story. Straining spaghetti while utterly smashed? Super hard. You will lose all the spaghetti when you strain it with a lid because you forgot the colander and there is way too much alcohol in your system. Staring at lava lamps while intoxicated will result in a burned forehead. Refrigerators hissing at night are terrifying. Pillow forts make it better. Also? The wolf rum mixed with Sprite is good…and will also impair your ability to cook. I know because halfway through this fic, I started dinner and made said drinks. I burned the bread. :(
> 
> There is a sequel written. It is double the length with double the alcohol and double the danger. Because...fire.


End file.
